


Dandelions Grant Wishes, Don't you Know?

by ItsAutumnHereFriend



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: An amalgamation of Book and Show Geralt, An exploration of Geralt's nightmares, But Jaskier is here to provide!, Character Study, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier mentions the djinn incident, Kinda? A little bit, Kisses, Love Confession, M/M, Some game references in here, They love each other, flower picking, no beta we die like men, of sorts, or like witchers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsAutumnHereFriend/pseuds/ItsAutumnHereFriend
Summary: Geralt's had enough of wishes and destiny. He's long since learned that both are a double-edged sword, and more often than not, he'll be given the worst side of it. That is, until Jaskier convinces him otherwise.Or the one in which Jaskier convinces Geralt that dandelions are just as magical (and better) as djinns.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 128





	Dandelions Grant Wishes, Don't you Know?

**Author's Note:**

> Every week is Geraskier week.
> 
> I just wanted to write a fic where Geralt makes a wish on a dandelion. It was either this or Geralt giving Jaskier a good ass blowjob. Which will be written regardless, sometimes the porn just writes itself.
> 
> I had to do some game research for this, sorry if I get anything wrong! I like to do the side quests before the main quest, so I've barely even made a dent in the game.

There are few fragments of memories of his childhood that Geralt chooses to remember. One of them includes the monotony of human life, of a child making a wish on the white tufts of dandelions. A child watches them flutter in the wind, imagining a destiny-charged life led by encounter after encounter of dragons and beasts. 

That was one part of his childhood he elects to ignore: destiny; wishing for his life to be encapsulated in magic and adventure. 

In many ways, Geralt had wished the life of a witcher upon him. He chooses to ignore that too. 

It lingers no matter the degree of ignorance and bliss, however. The night always seems to crawl and burrow under Geralt's skin, forcing him to remember. Even when the sun masks half the road, illusions of his past and its guilt stains his vision. 

With the rumours of the on-goings of witchers, anyone would have expected nightmares to hail from lands without beasts, no coin to give, no life to live. Even witchers themselves want to believe that nightmares do not plague them as much as ordinary folk. 

It hails just as strongly, if not stronger, than any snowstorm could ever give.

Slowly, the dance of leaves and the startle of nocturnal creatures come back to him. There are no stars to light the way; but Geralt never searches for guidance in the sky.

Jaskier's heart beats timidly, caught between wanting to help and the merciful act of ignorance. Geralt merely decides for him.

"I'm fine," Geralt says, if only to calm Jaskier's incessant shuffling and stuttered breathing. Despite his heart beating slower than humans, its nightmare-fuelled thudding slows the longer his senses pin on the bard. 

There's still a pointed stare that Jaskier gives. Yet there are no stars to guide him, no words that he could possibly give to remind Geralt that he isn't just some mutation. Jaskier shuts his eyes. Geralt listens to his heart slow to a peaceful lull. It’s calming, but not enough,

Neither sleep nor meditation comes easy after a nightmare. It still stews inside of him, forcing him to burst. Instead, Geralt stares at the dandelions swaying in the breeze.

It's startling, how easy it is to imagine himself a boy once more, selling dandelions and claiming wishes to be granted once its white tufts catch the tail-end of the wind. 

It's life, when he realizes that he can do that no longer. 

Yet he continues to watch them until the sun rises. It's nearly cheery, the way the light slowly dawns over them, a wish waiting to be made. 

A wish waiting--wanting--to be granted. 

He tears his eyes away and gets ready for more than a lifetime's worth on the Path.

  
  
  


With Jaskier, an image of a person he thinks he could have been is imprinted in his mind's eye whenever he blinks. A person walking side by side with him. A human with the same life force, wishing for something more. 

Although Jaskier is all yellows and every other colour just as bright as a peacock's, all Geralt could see were the whites that had filled much of his hope, as did his youth. 

Maybe Jaskier simply embodies the hope Geralt had lost. A hope that sprouts in abundance, free for everyone to pick. Every kind of dandelions, growing with every step he takes. Clouds of yellow and green, a family of white; all the colours life could possibly offer. 

What a dangerous string to unravel. Especially for a witcher.

It's that time of day when Jaskier demands to take a break. Geralt can count the rests needed to both appease Jaskier and to arrive into a town before the dark swallows all Jaskier can see, before he can stumble over up-turned roots and claims that he can barely see Roach in front of him.

One out of three rests. It saves his ears from Jaskier's whining. It doesn't, however, save him from his mumbling, which is indefinitely just as bad. 

"Groaning, groaning. What rhymes with groaning? Dawning?" 

A poet's soul trapped in a mind that cannot rhyme.

"I can tell you're insulting me just by your stare, Geralt."

The witcher grunts, rummaging through his potions and keeping a mental list of ingredients to stockpile. White myrtle and ginatia petals. Geralt's eyes flicker towards the dandelions littered sparsely in their campsite. Coincidence, how close they are to Novigrad. Gathering the petals should be simple. 

Jaskier continues to chew at his bottom lip--perhaps to conjure blood in exchange for a good rhyme--even whilst Geralt searches around the encampment for the flowers. There’s silence save for the bard’s mutterings.

Behind him, Jaskier begins to shuffle. The witcher allows himself, with his back turned to Jaskier, to smile when he hears him humming openly, testing lyrical passages. Maybe there is even magic in that, in the way Jaskier sings and lets Geralt’s mind become beautifully blank in the plague of guilt.

"Are there any alchemical properties you need with these?" 

Geralt purses his lips, turns and leans back when Jaskier waves the dandelions in his face. "No," he says, turning to scour around the grass once more.

The bard hums, pensive. "I wish to get to Novigrad before the sun goes down." He blows hard against the dandelion, eyeing its white tufts as they float away.

"We'll be there once you can feel your legs again."

Jaskier sounds smug. "And just like that, my wish is granted. An example, Geralt. No djinns needed here!" 

He doesn't bother to answer, although he feels his face twisting reflexively. Geralt exhales. It takes only a moment too long for him to face Jaskier. The poet beckons him to sit next to him. His eyes are just as blue as the sky, and if Geralt couldn’t smell hope radiating off of him, he can surely see it. Maybe if he gazed at the sky now, all he’d be able to see is Jaskier and  _ hope _ . The witcher’s shoulders sag, unbridled tension melting away.

It feels like an epiphany and comfort all rolled into one: Jaskier. The simple act of sitting next to him, living by his side.

His fingers twitch, almost lurching to touch. Instead his hands twist to rip the petals off its body as Jaskier continues to pluck dandelions beside him.

Geralt's brows furrow. "You're not supposed to say what you wish for."

Jaskier sways, batting his shoulder against Geralt's. "Then how will they know what to grant? Perhaps djinns and dandelions aren't so different after all."

Geralt grunts. 

"Quite, Geralt. Quite." Roach whinnies, and Jaskier laughs. He laughs with everything that he is, his body following the effort. It's boisterous and rivals the warmth of the sun. Geralt's eyes linger as it always does, then falls away. "See? Even Roach agrees."

"A traitor."

Jaskier waves him off. "Perhaps I've grown to be a favourite of hers." He leans closer, head resting on Geralt's shoulder. "Have you?" 

The witcher’s eyes train on Jaskier’s. He feels no need to look away. The bard smiles easily at his silence, Geralt clenches his jaw. "I  _ am _ Roach's favourite."

"No-" he laughs again, twice now. Geralt's mouth twitches. "I mean- quite a leap of conversations. I mean, have you ever tried to wish on one?" A hand shakes the bundle of dandelions. 

The rustle of leaves overtakes the sudden lull. Geralt has long since finished ripping the petals from their stems, choosing to stare at the congregated mass on his lap. It takes three long breaths: "I have. Used to. Had about enough of wishes."

Jaskier makes a wounded sound. The stench of worry masks the scent of plum wood and chamomile, Geralt's fingers twitch as if they could grab the words he yearns to find.

They come open with nothing left for him to say. 

The bard rests his thumb in the tufts of the dandelion, it encases it in a scratchy but soft blanket. "They can't twist your words and give you the worst side of your wish, Geralt."

"There's nothing magic about them."

"No, but there is magic enough for kids to keep wishing. Even adults can do it too," and he blows his wish away, the wind whisking it elsewhere to sprout in distant lands. Wherever the wind cares to take them.

"Care to try? One last time? Unless you truly have no more wishes in you. None you wish to be tainted?" 

Geralt blinks at Jaskier. The witcher rests his hand on the one Jaskier is using to hold one last dandelion. His thumb soothes against the bard's knuckles. Geralt knocks their forehead together gently, wordlessly; he stares into Jaskier's gaze and hopes he doesn't misunderstand the understanding in Jaskier's eyes. 

He pulls away, lifts the poet's hands and watches as his breath gives life to his wish, watches as the earth cups his wish in her own breath, and floats them away.

Geralt turns to Jaskier once more and captures his lips in an embrace. It's softer than Jaskier could think possible from anyone. Far softer than any shy kiss anyone has given him. Geralt sighs in the kiss, and he knows then, how easy it could have been. How easy Jaskier makes it for him. 

Their breath is shared until Jaskier pulls away, gulping for air. Geralt refuses to stray far, placing kisses down his neck, his hands cup Jasker’s cheeks. They hold everything the witcher needs to stay grounded, magic and all.

"Wish granted," Geralt mumbles. 

"You sure?" Jaskier says, pulling at Geralt’s hair with a cheeky grin. 

The witcher caresses Jaskier's cheek. "Maybe there is magic to them," and pulls him in for another kiss.

  
  
  


Geralt is not alone, never alone. Not when dandelions grow everywhere alongside him, matching astride Roach's pace. Geralt's eyes flit towards them, staring at them too long, forgetting that they grow enough for everyone to have their wishes filled. Never granted, only heard.

Although with Jaskier, Geralt doesn't have a need for any more wishes. Jaskier is a bringer of light and the earth's lasting breath. Jaskier carries all the wishes Geralt could have ever needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> And now Geralt's flower petals are crushed and forgotten on his lap.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Toss a [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/itsautumnherefriend) to your writer?  
> Also yell at me on Tumblr if you wish: [itsautumnherefriend](https://itsautumnherefriend.tumblr.com/)


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